March 2009 Archives

'Listen, I think we'd have fun. You know, together?'
'You mean you think we'd end up having sex?'
'No. No no. Not at all. Sex never even entered my head. I never said a thing about sex...'
'You didn't have to. You've been staring at my tits the whole time we've been talking.'
'I have not.'
'Yes you have.'
'I have no... I was watching your hands to make sure you wouldn't hit me again. Look it. I just want you to have a drink with me.'
She sighed. 'Well, I need to think about it,' she said, pausing for a moment. 'Okay, I've thought about it. No.'
'Okay. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for' he said, wiping the blood from his mouth and considering the stain on his coat sleeve. He glanced back up, just in time to see her dive over the side of the building.
'Oh for fuck's sakes...'

A bus. Travelling across the desert. Yellow and dusty, it bounces along a broken-assed dirt-road. Michael sits in a seat near the front, looking around him. Next to him is a twenty-two year old version of himself who sits reading a Douglas Adams book. In the seat in front of him, his sixteen-year old self is staring out the window, arms folded, scowling at the horizon. Behind him an eight-year old Michael is working at the strings on a chipped tennis racket. Scattered throughout the bus, there are different versions of him, different ages, doing different things. Some are noisy as hell - an eighteen-year old roaring drunk and singing. Horrified by the haircuts, Michael scans the various faces. Hang on a second, he says, who's driving this thing?

Non-verbals are universal by Dr. Joanne.

9,000 feet above the earth and rising, two people sit inside a C-130 Hercules plane, looking at one and other. When are we, he finally asks. About 1200 years ago, she replies. Where are we, he asks. Somewhere over the middle of the Atlantic ocean. She stands up and removes her coat. Are you scared she asks, as the door behind them starts opening, the white noise bursting through the interior of the plane. Look at me, she says. He does. You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing. She kisses him, her hands running around the back of his neck, into his hair. Time slows, the taste of her in his mouth. And remember what I said, she tells him. "Nach dem spiel ist vor dem spiel".

"she had her coat on, ready to leave and as she walked away from me, the prose that fell from her lips began to transform itself into poetry" by Dr. Joanne

'Okay. So hang on a sec now. You want me to tell space and time to slow down, or speed up, or move aside so I can...' he trailed off, his hands waving in small circles.
'...slip your hand under reality's bra-strap and cop a feel'
'Ya ha. Right, thing is, I've never been that good at opening bras'
'I didn't say you had to open the bra. I just said you have to get your hand in there...'
'Get my hand in there?'
'Yep'
'And grab the universe by the tit?'
'Well grabbing anything by the tits is usually problematic. Generally speaking, violence will ensue. So, not so much with the grabbing, but you're getting the idea'
'So, more of a squeeze then?'
'Meh. I was thinking a sort of tweak really'
'Uh huh. And you think I can, you know, just do that then?'
'Yes, actually. I do'
'You know, I think I know why you're not married anymore'